Twelve Vignettes
by bloodyromantic
Summary: Brief scenes from the life of Ilosovic Stayne and his lady love from the White Court, during their days of refuge in Marmoreal. Back story also smut can be found in the story cycle that begins with "The Perils of Constancy."


Casiphia took Stayne's hand as they regarded the Vorpal Sword on the wall of the throne room, in the event that past memories might be heavy and require support.

"It's a lovely weapon," she said. "And it seemed to respond well to you. Do you ever miss it?"

"No. I don't," he said. "The weight of too much history and expectation comes with it, and little good ever came to me from it. I am aware that no one will ever let me get my hands on it again, and I can't honestly say I'm sorry for that.

"For that matter, the only thing I really resent Alice for is killing Iracebeth's bloody Jabberbabywocky. Vengeance upon it for taking my eye should have been my reward."

* * *

Ilosovic Stayne walked into the bedroom to find Casiphia sitting on the bed, his sword in one hand and her own in the other, looking pensive.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I'm thinking I'm glad I've never had to defend myself with your sword," she said. "I'm certain some of the furniture in here weighs less. Though I must say I'm impressed that you are able to wield this the way you do."

"May you never have to fight with either," he said. "I hope that you will never have to defend yourself with weaponry again."

"Nevertheless, would you be willing to help me learn some of your better defensive techniques?" she asked. "For a smaller and lighter sword than your own, for instance."

"Of course, milady. And perhaps you would like to give me a lesson on how to use your—what do you call it? besides 'Henrietta'-your little Derringer."

"I never expected I'd be in a position to trade weapons expertise," Casiphia mused. "But of course I will. I don't suppose either of us can feel too secure these days."

* * *

"Thackery is a rather brilliant cook, I have to give him that," Ilosovic said, biting into a fresh hot scone.

"Usually he is wonderful, although there are the rare times he completely misses the target," Casiphia said.

"Oh?"

"Oh, the codfish and marmalade muffins, for example. They looked so good, warm and golden in their pan, including the ones with the decorative fins on top...I don't think I ate for three days after I encountered those, and I couldn't go into the kitchen wing for a week."

"Seems a shame to do that to marmalade," Stayne said.

"They all went to Chessur, by default, and I suppose he enjoyed them well enough. Not that I could ever bring myself to ask."

Casiphia dipped her finger in the Devonshire cream that Thackery had so beautifully concocted and delicately brought it to her mouth. "Now this, on the other hand, is delicious," she declared. Then she dipped into it again and offered her finger to Ilosovic, who took it into his own mouth and licked off the sweetness.

"Delicious indeed," he agreed.

* * *

Late summer sunlight hazed the distance as Ilosovic and Casiphia stood on their terrace, looking out at the high green hills. The day being quite warm, her hair was pinned up in disheveled fashion (which Stayne found charming) and his was tied in a ponytail at his neck (which Casiphia could not get used to).

"Do you miss the freedom we used to have?" Casiphia said. "Riding wherever we wanted to and never needing the company of guards?"

"I do," he admitted. "But I tell myself this can't last forever. And in the interim I can get used to a new life which is very different from the old, and we can make those adjustments together."

"I wish we could take the horses and go for a night ride," she said wistfully.

"Someday, my love, I promise," he said. "And I hope it will not be too long before we can. But for now I'd rather keep us both safe. And I'd rather not be under actual house arrest either, as opposed to staying on the castle grounds, which only feels like house arrest."

Casiphia sighed. "Well, at least there's no one I'd rather be under house arrest with than you," she said mock-stoically. He couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

Even if they couldn't go on their beloved long rides, Ilosovic Stayne and Casiphia Rhoswen could still take their horses on shorter trips around the castle grounds. And spending time with loyal and nonjudgmental equines was always pleasant.

One afternoon as they entered the stables, Casiphia stopped short and held up a hand for Ilosovic to pause behind her. Then she gestured to the stalls, where Brautigan was leaning over his wall to nuzzle Quill's cheek.

Stayne cleared his throat and the horses rapidly backed away from each other.

"No, _that_ wasn't suspicious at all," Casiphia whispered. She gave Quill a sly look, and the white horse laid her ears back and narrowed her eyes. Brautigan snorted at her, but said nothing.

"We're pretending we saw nothing, I guess," Casiphia said.

"Right. I'll try to remember that," Stayne said, grinning at Brautigan and dodging as the horse bit at his hair.

* * *

"Everything in this castle was made for shorter people," Casiphia grumbled as she nearly knocked her court wig askew on the garland of ivy adorning the door frame she was passing under.

"I've noticed," Stayne said, ducking to follow her.

* * *

"Dance with me," Casiphia said, placing one of Stayne's hands on her shoulder and the other upon her waist and beginning an impromptu waltz about the sitting room.

"You are right, I do dance, but what made you think that I did?" Ilosovic asked her. "I don't think most people would expect that of me, and I've avoided it for the most part."

"Two reasons," she said. "An excellent swordsman such as yourself has all the skills required to be a good dancer. And I can't imagine that you were able to avoid dance classes with the time you've spent living at castles. Someday we shall have to make use of this ability and show off for the court."

* * *

And then there were times that neither told the other about, foregoing comfort to prevent further burdening the other. Times when Stayne stared out into the middle distance from their terrace, his heart heavy with the weight of decisions made freely, or when Casiphia's eyes filled with sadness, and a tear fell onto the book she was reading and was hastily wiped away, regrets lingering from the unexpected and unwanted consequences of past actions.

And when they came together again after these moments it was silently, as they drew close and held tight to each other, seeking the only solace they dared.

* * *

"I want to take you back to our bedroom and kiss every one of your scars," Casiphia whispered to Ilosovic as they sat at dinner.

"That might take a while," he replied.

"Yes," she said.

* * *

"What the-" Stayne said as a small boy nearly bowled into him in the corridor.

"Court children have always had nearly the run of the wings where they live," Casiphia explained. "I remember how the King and Queen of Spades enjoyed having us around and made sure we always had something fun or interesting to do.

"In fact, when I was very young, we camped out in the throne room one night a year," she said. "It was marvelous fun. Of course when we got older someone must have decreed that we could cause too much trouble, and that was stopped. Given that our particular cohort included children like Oran, I suppose that was a wise decision. It was unfortunate, though, I always really enjoyed that night."

* * *

Casiphia was standing at the French door that led onto the terrace and pondering rose trees when she felt arms steal around her waist and a kiss at the back of her neck.

"That had better be you, Ilosovic Stayne, or you are going to feel a sword hilt where you had rather not," she said.

"There's a response that makes me entirely certain that is you," Stayne said, breathing into her ear, which she seemed to like.

* * *

Casiphia was sitting at her ornate little desk in the library of their suite, tapping a quill pen against a piece of parchment, when Ilosovic entered the room.

"Hand over the eyepatch," she ordered as he passed by.

Bemused, he complied. He'd been wearing the black leather, spade-shaped patch, a memento from the times before before Horunvendush Day, since Casiphia had brought him to the White Castle, as the wardrobe of heart patches he'd had at Saluzen Grum was both inappropriate and unappealing. Casiphia deftly traced around the current patch with her pen and handed it back.

"Might I ask what that is for?" he said.

"For a replacement," she said. "That one is looking a bit raggedy, which is not at all in keeping with your elegance"-he looked a bit embarrassed at this-"and also so I can embroider you one for special occasions, of which I expect there to be many."

"You do love me, don't you?" he said, looking down at her with that crooked smile she found so endearing.

"Yes," she said simply, taking his hand and holding it against her cheek.


End file.
